


Mirror Shards

by Shiyaki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Dementors (Harry Potter) - Freeform, Derek Feels, Harry feels, Hurt/Comfort, Lots and lots of guilt, M/M, Nemeton, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, So much angst, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiyaki/pseuds/Shiyaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry resembles a broken mirror, glass held together by friendship and love - apparently whole, but still cracked in many places. Derek is shattered as well, though his shards are still scattered - all sharp edges and fragile planes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, this is the result of watching too much Teen Wolf. I'm always caught between feeling so, so sorry for Derek and shaking my head at all those bad decisions he makes. I'm totally disregarding season 3b by the way.

Derek knows something’s wrong, when he starts feeling cold.

True, it happens to normal people all the time and for them it's usually barely worth mentioning, except when they're whiny idiots. He‘s not exactly normal, though. No, Derek’s a werewolf, which means he’s basically a durable, regenerating mass of heat. Additionally it's the middle of summer and as a whole too fucking hot, even at night. Except now it feels like he’s in a fridge.

So, yes, there’s definitely something weird going on.

 Derek’s frown gets deeper, but he decides to disregard the drop in temperature for the moment, because he can neither smell nor feel anything unusual. The loft is just around the corner anyway.

 “ _I can’t… I can’t take it anymore…_ ”

 He stops in his tracks immediately and clenches his hands into fists. There may or may not be claws involved to stave off the hallucination. It _has_ to be one, because Derek saw Paige die. He’s the _reason_ why she’s dead and he can remember every gruesome second of the night his eyes turned blue. His guilt will never let him forget.

Derek slowly turns around and checks every nook and cranny of the dark alley he’s in, but all he can see is graffitied, dirty brick and metal walls. Another sniff confirms the lack of living beings in his immediate proximity. That doesn’t mean he’s alone, though, because he can hear _something_. It reminds him of the rattling breathing of a person with respiratory problems. He’s been in hospitals often enough - back when Peter was still comatose - to recognize the sound. It’s also getting closer and Derek can’t quite pinpoint the direction it’s coming from.

By now the cold isn’t just an annoyance. It’s slowly seeping through his skin and settling heavily in his furiously beating heart. Derek is intimately acquainted with overwhelming despair and the crushing weight of guilt, but this is somehow worse. _So much worse_.

He can feel Boyd’s hot, sticky blood on his fingers and his nose is being assaulted by the stench of burnt flesh. Human flesh. The bodies of his family members, who had died because of _him_.

Derek’s hazy gaze flickers between the sight of Laura’s mauled corpse and the alley. All of his senses are shot to hell, which is why he almost doesn’t notice the creepy, dark creature that’s floating in his direction.

Death? It certainly looks like some of the depictions he’s seen. The only thing that’s missing is a scythe. Whatever it is, it’s probably the reason why five of Beacon Hill’s residents have become nothing more than a barely functioning shell. No thoughts, no emotions, no anything. He’s about to become the sixth.

There’s no way Derek wants to end up as a vegetable in a hospital room, but his body isn’t exactly cooperating. When he urges it to claw the creature into pieces, his legs fold like a house of cards just to spite him. The blackness creeping into his vision isn’t particularly reassuring, either.

The last thing he takes note of before his brain shuts down are hands on his shoulders.

Derek regains consciousness to the sweet taste of melting chocolate on his tongue. He’s still feeling chilled to the bones, but the all consuming hopelessness is again at its usual, mostly manageable level.

A steady heartbeat alarms him to the presence of another person, before his nose picks up the metallic scent of fresh blood. He quickly forces his lids to open and is promptly confronted with the greenest pair of eyes he’s ever seen. The dark eyebrows above them, half hidden by black hair, are knitted in a way that may or may not be concern.

“Just take deep breaths, the chocolate should help with the after effects.”

Derek would love to listen to that suggestion, really he would, because his body is still not up to speed, but he has no idea who this guy is. It could be an enemy for all he knows. There’s also the small matter of the dark creature that’s currently being circled by a huge, **_glowing_** stag. In fucking midair!

The glare comes naturally to him, as does the frowning.

“Who are you and what’s that thing?”

The man has the gall to raise his eyebrows at him, but answers readily enough.

“My name’s Harry Potter.“ He stops and stares at Derek as if he’s waiting for a certain reaction. Is he supposed to know this guy or something? Well, he doesn’t and therefore counters with an unimpressed glare of his own, which, for some reason, earns him a small smile. “’That thing’ is a dementor. They drain the hope and happiness out of people and make them relieve their worst memories. If they come too close, they can suck out your soul.”

So those creatures _really_ are responsible for the incidents. Good to know.

Derek’s about to question the man about the stag, when the scent of blood makes it back to the forefront of his mind. At first he’s thought it’s his own from when he’s pierced his hands with his claws, but it’s not. It’s really not.

He stares, in what’s probably wide eyed horror, at his fingers, which are clenched around the man’s arm in a bruising grip. Red rivulets run over their skin from where his claws dig into the flesh.

Derek hasn’t even noticed until now. _Why hadn’t he noticed_?

His breath catches in his throat and his mind plunges right back to thoughts of Boyd, until a hand on his face forces his head back up.

“It’s alright, calm down. It’s going to heal.” Harry isn’t lying. There’s not even the slightest skip in his heartbeat and Derek can’t grasp why this doesn’t seem to bother the man in the slightest.

“I know what an encounter with a dementor is like and this is really just a small flesh wound.” Some, if not all of his disbelief is apparently blatantly displayed on his face, because Harry sighs and draws something out of his pocket that looks suspiciously like what he had imagined a wand to be like, when he was still a child. Derek hears a muttered ‘episkey’ and watches on as the flesh knits back together as his is wont to do. What remains is unblemished skin.

“See? It’s gone.” The man smiles at him reassuringly and Derek actually feels a bit bad about going back to wondering if he’s an enemy or not. They don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to other supernatural beings, or hunters, or… he should _really_ stop thinking about this.

The wand - he’s sure of it now - is replaced with a mirror. A _vibrating_ pocket mirror. Maybe he’s still hallucinating…

“Hey Ron, I found the dementor. It was in the warehouse district. Prongs is keeping it busy for now, but the tether spell doesn’t work.”

Derek sees the face of the redhead on the other side of the mirror - definitely still hallucinating - darken further.

“I noticed.”

The image in the mirror pans to the side and- oh. That was clearly the nemeton. And about a dozen dementors.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on some older stuff, as you can see. Derek's a bitch to write by the way… Aaand I changed my mind. There will be stuff of later seasons in this fic.

"I'll take you there," Derek decides after half a second of pondering. Alpha or not, he's still accountable for supernatural creatures doing their shenanigans in Beacon Hills and the man in front of him seems to be, at least for now, the only person with the ability to control those flying nightmares.

If he leads the brunet to his companion, he can not only keep an eye on him (the red-head, too, after they arrive), but also gather some intel. The man may have saved his life, but his appearance in the nick of time's still suspicious as hell. Derek really tries not to get blind-sided by the bad guys anymore, ok? Especially those who are easy on the eyes.

The wizard's skeptical gaze wanders from Derek's still slightly trembling fingers to the Grim Reaper wannabe and the glowing stag ghost thing. He frowns, scratches the back his head and finally makes eye contact with him.

"I don't think it's a good idea if you have more exposure to the dementor. Maybe you can just tell me where to go?"

Yeah, that's not happening. Derek scowls at the wizard, makes painfully sure that no part of his body displays any weakness (which is fucking difficult, because he's still freezing cold and has the scent of blood and death in his nose) and starts walking.

"This way."

Harry sighs, but doesn't object and after a moment follows him with the rest of their entourage.

Derek leads them through the dark and smelly back alleys, while sending a short message to the rest of the pack. That way he can hopefully avoid exposing any unsuspecting people to their worst nightmares or accidentally creating more victims.

His muscles are tense, half in anticipation of a surprise attack, half due to the after effects of his emotional breakdown. Every time the dementor drifts closer to them, the possibility of a repeat performance increases. So much for intel gathering. He's barely functioning without dissolving into a shivering mess.

"Here." Harry holds a chocolate bar out to him. His smile is wry and knowing and his other hand's wrapped around even more chocolate. "It should take the edge off."

Derek eyes the offered sweet suspiciously, but he remembers the taste of it on his tongue and the relief it had brought. For a short period of time anyway. He reluctantly takes the chocolate and unwraps it, before taking a bite. Instantly some of the tension drains out of his body and his head feels a bit clearer. He nods his thanks and tries not to notice how nice the smile is that he gets in return.

"You seem to know a lot about those creatures." He tries to sound accusatory and misses by half a mile. It's a bit difficult to be stoic or even antagonistic, when the other brunet keeps helping him.

The wizard side-eyes him for a moment, but offers an explanation willingly enough.

"Yeah. You probably don't know much about the British magical world, so… Dementors used to be the security system in Azkaban, our prison. After the war with Voldemort, a dark wizard, they were replaced with wizards and tethered to a containment facility, because they had defected to Voldemort's side and they can't be destroyed. Unfortunately they were freed by one of the remaining followers of Voldemort in a bid to… We, uh, actually don't know, because he's been kissed before he could do anything else. Anyway, Ron and I are the aurors with the most experience when it comes to dementors, so we were sent out to bring them back. Maybe MACUSA will give us a hand, but I doubt it. They're not overly fond of us Brits."

That explains… absolutely nothing to Derek. Quite the contrary, it brings forth a slew of new questions. A lot more than have been answered. British magical world? Kissed? Aurors? MACUSA? Although… hasn't his mother mentioned the latter once or twice? He really should have spent more time listening to her… then maybe she'd be here right now and…

"You… have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Harry wonders after a long moment of silence, which Derek may or may not has spent moping. "But let's get back to that topic later. How are we going to cross this?"

They've reached the edge of the Warehouse District and with it the East Hills River. The ice rink lies to their left and the Industry Bridge not very far to their right. Derek and Harry are still standing in an alley way, but even now people unconsciously give them a wide berth, some of them are shivering slightly. Derek can't blame them.

He considers turning around, back into the Warehouse District, and heading south, but at human speed it'll take hours until they reach the Nemeton without any risk to the unsuspecting population. Hours of running around with a potential enemy who can chip away at his defenses and a creature of nightmares at his back.

"I have a suggestion, but you're probably not going to like it."

Derek turns around and regards the wizard with a raised brow.

"Can't be worse than some of the ideas I've heard lately." From Stiles or Scott or anyone else from the pack. From _himself_.

"I could turn us invisible," Harry starts, while his whole damn arm disappears into a bag that's not nearly big enough for such a thing to happen. Derek can't help his dumbfounded staring. "And then we fly the rest of the way. It's going to be a lot faster, too."

"Fly?" Derek repeats incredulous. "With _that_?"

"Exactly," The other brunet agrees with a crooked grin as he pulls an honest to God miniature broom out of the bag. It's not small for long, though. Harry twirls his wand, mutters some Latin word or another and the item grows bigger until it reaches a normal size. Derek eyes the narrow, breakable broom handle and has to agree - He doesn't like the plan. At all. It looks like a deathtrap. If it really _can_ fly, that is.

"It's a lot sturdier than it looks, I promise," Harry says earnestly and Derek really shouldn't trust him, but what other options does he have at the moment?

Five minutes later they're zipping through the air and Derek's invisible hands are clenched around the broom handle, because he refuses to wrap his arms around the other man's torso. The wood's creaking beneath his punishing grip, but withstands even werewolf strength.

This is madness. He's seen a shit ton of supernatural stuff. Hell, he _is_ supernatural stuff, but riding on a broom – and being invisible! - is still crazy shit and ranks just barely below Peter's revival stunt in his mind.

Derek nonetheless keeps his eyes open to give Harry directions. So far the wizard hasn't tried to kill him by turning him into a blood splatter on the ground and he can barely feel the effects of the dementor that's being herded after them by the stag. A patronus, Harry has explained. A spell to control and defend against dementors and similar creatures. Derek doesn't want to think too hard about there _being_ similar creatures.

A few minutes later he can see Stile's blue Jeep at the edge of the reserve and urges Harry to land. When his feet touch the ground, Derek utters a relieved sigh and wastes no time getting off the broom.

He spots Isaac next to a copse of trees. The brunet's glowing amber gaze is directed at their general location, but there's a frown on his chalk-white face. It takes Derek a second to remember that Harry and he are still invisible, so Isaac can only hear their heartbeats and smell them.

"Do you know him?"

"Yeah."

"Alright then, _finite incantatem_."

Derek can tell without looking that they're visible again, because Isaac flinches and focusses on him. After a moment, the other beta makes a move to come closer, but his eyes zero in on something in the air and he quickly stumbles backwards. He's developed a full-body shiver, his breathing borders on hyperventilation and it sounds like Isaac's heart is doing its best to beat out of his chest.

Harry wordlessly hands Derek another chocolate bar. The wizard's compassionate green eyes captivate him for longer than Derek's willing to admit, but then he hears Isaac's soft whine, which urges him to deliver the sweet in his hands. He unwraps the chocolate on the way and pushes it into Isaac's hands, when he arrives in front of him.

"Eat."

"Derek?"

"It helps."

Isaac still looks unconvinced, but breaks off a piece of the chocolate anyway and pops it into his mouth. The shivering lessens, but his face remains pale and his heart beat that of a skittish rabbit.

"Is that Harry Potter?"

Derek raises his eyebrows at the unexpected question and looks over his shoulder to the wizard who's instructing his patronus spell to bring the dementor to its brethren in the forest. The stag paws the air beneath its hoof, circles the dementor a few times and finally chases it to the line of trees, where both disappear from sight. "How do you know his name?"

"The others went to the Nemeton." Derek doesn't ask him why Isaac's not with them. He can make an educated guess. "I heard them talk to a guy named Ron Weasley. Apparently he's some kind of magical law enforcement from Britain and he and his colleague Harry Potter are here to deal with those… whatever their name is. Derek… what the hell is going on?"

Derek sighs and tiredly rubs both hands over his face. "I have no idea… This is weird even for Beacon Hills, but I intend to find out." He nods to Isaac and turns around to rejoin Harry, who's waiting more or less patiently for him next to the line of trees, where their former entourage has disappeared behind.

"Does your friend feel better?" Harry inquires. There's still concern in his eyes as he darts a glance at Isaac.

"Yeah. Come on, we're almost there."

"Why's he here?"

"I texted my pack. We usually deal with the supernatural beings that wreak havoc in Bea…con… Hills…." Oh God, the Nemeton is still a few hundred feet away, but Derek already feels sick to his stomach again.

Next to him Harry suddenly gasps and clutches his head. His eyes are screwed shut as he drops to his knees and grips his hair tightly with a groan and two muttered words.

"Get _out_."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now on to the explanation of what’s wrong with Harry.

“Harry?” 

Derek’s panicking. Mostly on the inside, but that’s already hard enough to deal with. What’s he supposed to do? He doubts this… seizure (?) is solely dementor-related (or an elaborated ploy to catch him unawares), because so far the wizard has shown more resistance to them than Derek, who feels… not well but not utterly miserable either. There’s got to be another explanation, but the million dollar question is which.

Derek crouches down next to Harry and carefully pries the wizard’s fingers from his hair, before he can rip any of it out and hurt himself. The brunet latches onto Derek’s wrists instead and squeezes until his knuckles are turning white from the pressure.  

Derek lets him. It’s something he can do at least.

Harry’s eyes are still shut tightly, his teeth clenched more often than not and now there’s even an alarming trickle of blood coming from his nose. The sound of approaching footsteps has never been more relieving than right now.

Derek looks up and catches sight of most of his remaining pack plus a young man with ginger hair, probably Ron Weasley. They’re running in his direction at human speed and he notices that all of them are just as ashen as Isaac was.

“Derek, what happened?” Scott’s the first to stop next to them after crossing the remaining distance with a spurt of werewolf speed. “Were you attacked? Is this Harry? What’s wrong with him?” His concerned gaze wanders from the trickle of blood to the hands around Derek’s wrists and his head’s tilted slightly to the side in an attempt to decipher Harry’s interspersed mumbling. He won’t have any luck, because even Derek, who’s closer, can’t understand him.

“We weren’t attacked. He just suddenly… collapsed.”

In the meantime Stiles, Allison and the redhead have crowded around them. The latter wastes no time dropping to his knees next to his fellow wizard, turns Harry’s face towards him and studies it with a deep frown.

“Mate? Can you hear me?”

To nobody’s surprise, there isn’t an answer, even when Ron taps his cheek a few times. There’s only a groan that sounds like somebody’s trying to perform open surgery on him without anesthetics. The redhead releases his grip and starts digging through a bag that looks similar to the one in Harry’s possession. His lips’re pressed together so tightly, they’re barely visible.

Derek knits his eyebrows and can’t rule out that his eyes flash for a second or two.

“You know what’s wrong!”

“No, I don’t.” The redhead disagrees, not even looking up from where he continues his frantic rummaging. “But I have hunch,” he finally adds and unearths a rune inscribed box that he tosses in Scott’s direction, who catches it with a puzzled look.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s a containment box, which we usually use for dark artifacts. If black smoke’s starting to come out of him, I’ll try to direct it into the box and you close it at fast as possible,” Ron starts to explain and flicks his wrist. In the next moment there’s a wand in his hand. “If it’s anything else, catch it.”

“Wait wait wait, back up! ’Anything else’? Dude, what the hell’re we dealing with?” Stiles questions and squints suspiciously at the wizard.

“I think that’s what we all would like to know,” Allison chips in. “What do you suspect? Is he going to be a danger or- wait, do you think he’s _possessed_?”

“Oh my gawd, are we suddenly in a rendition of The Exorcist? Is it a ghost? Is that also a thing now?” Stiles cries out and promptly skips to wondering where they can get tons of salt from in the middle of the forest.

Ron’s halfway stuck between a glower and bewilderment, when a hacking cough successfully derails the potential confrontation.

It’s Harry, who’s caught in a convulsive cough that makes Derek fear for his lungs and his oxygen supply. Finally the coughing turns into retching, before the brunet spits out a reddish fly, which heads for Stiles in single-minded determination. The teen stumbles backwards, his eyes wide like saucers, when he lands on his ass after tripping over a root or maybe just his own feet.

“Scott, what the hell’re you waiting for? I’m pretty sure this is your cue, man.”

_That_ jerks Scott into motion. He lunges forward and has to readjust the path of his hands several times before the surprisingly nimble insect is trapped in the box. There’s a collective sigh of relief.

“Sooo...”Allison drawls after all of them have stared at the box for a good long minute in bemusement. “Any ideas? I assume it wasn’t just a fly and he wasn’t just choking on it.”

“Nogi…tsu…ne,” Harry rasps out and all eyes swivel towards the brunet who looks like all power has been sucked right out of him. One of his hands release Derek’s wrist and massage his temples while muttering ‘Now that was fun...’.

Before his mind has caught up with his traitorous body, Derek’s free hand is cradling the wizard’s neck and doing its best to drain away the headache the brunet is no doubt suffering from. Harry eyes the black veins with surprise and no small amount of gratitude as his body slowly relaxes as the pain recedes.

“Thank you.”

Derek nods awkwardly and does his best to ignore Stile’s judging stare that’s trying to drill a hole into the side of his head.

“You’ve got to stop getting possessed, mate,” Ron reprimands while handing his colleague a glass of magicked-up water. He sounds only half-joking and Derek can still make out slight wrinkles in his forehead. “It’s getting old real fast.”

 “I’ll get a tattoo with ‘No trespassing allowed’ on my forehead when we get home,” Harry deadpans and if he rolls his eyes any harder, they’re going to pop right out of their sockets.

“So? What’s a nogi-what’s-its-name,” Stiles probes impatiently, cutting right to the chase.

“Nogitsune,” Harry corrects. “Apparently it’s a creature that used to be trapped beneath the Nemeton and was released recently due to a sacrificial ritual. It possesses people and thrives on chaos,” the brunet explains in a somewhat distracted voice, his eyebrows are drawn together in a frown. “Ron, did you know there’s a Nemeton here? Do you think that’s why we can’t tether the dementors anymore?”

Derek exchanges a meaningful look with his pack. It usually spells trouble when someone’s business is linked to the Nemeton in any way. They also know what that sacrificial ritual was all about and it looks alarmingly like they’ve just dodged at least one bullet. They don’t know what the nogitsune would have done or what it is even capable of, but just imagining the possibilities is, to put it mildly, horrifying.

The readhead meanwhile scratches his cheek and glances at the undergrowth that’s blocking their view of the Nemeton.

“Not really, you know I’m not good at remembering that kind of stuff. But mate, that tree, if you can even call it that anymore, is in pretty bad shape and it feels all kinds of wrong.”

Alarm bells start to ring in Derek’s head. He knows about the copious amounts of energy the Nemeton possesses, but it’s not like he’s had many opportunities to compare the one in the Reserve to any potential other ones.

“What do you mean ‘wrong’?”

“And why didn’t this nogitsune try to possess one of us? We were closer and it seemed right in love at first sight with me.” Stiles adds, shuddering in disgust. Scott pats his shoulder sympathetically and Allison sends him a crooked smile.

This time Ron and Harry are the ones exchanging looks.

The latter gets rid of the glass after gulping down the water and finally releases Derek’s other wrist, which now feels strangely cold. “My mental defenses…,” the brunet starts and nudges his glasses out of the way to rub over his eyes with the back of his hand. “Let’s just say they’re not the best. Unfortunately that wasn’t my first time getting possessed.”

Derek swallows thickly. He can’t (and honestly doesn’t want to) imagine what that’s like, but ‘That sucks’ probably doesn’t even begin to describe it.

“And you always have, like, an epic battle with the things possessing you?” Stiles pipes up, his tone half awed, half horrified. “How many were there? Is it like a fist fight in your mind or something?” Then his gaze turns suspicious again. “Do you always win?”

“Stop pestering him! He doesn’t owe you an explanation,” Ron growls, before Harry has even taken a breath to speak. He collects the box from Scott’s hands, gives Harry a leg-up and pulls him towards the Nemeton without another word.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone just does what he wants and not what I've planned... damn it...

"Ron, calm down, before you yank my arm off."

"Can you believe them? Questioning upstanding aurors? Questioning _you_ of all people? Who do they think they are?"

"Well, uh, Derek mentioned that they take care of the magical stuff that happens in Beacon Hills."

" _Derek_ , huh? Really, mate? I know that look and- no, no use in denying it. I _know_ you- Ouch- Stop _hitting_ _me,_ just because I'm telling the truth! **Anyway** , shouldn't MACUSA take care of such things?"

"Theoretically, but when does the government ever do what it's supposed to? The United States are huge and they have, like, ten outposts in total, most of them on the East Coast. That's not enough to pay attention to everything, let alone the-"

Derek wearily rubs his eyes when the two aurors get out of his hearing range and idly wonders if he'll get any kind of sleep this night. Probably not. It's close to midnight already and he still has to deal with the shit-load of dementors infesting the Nemeton and two wizards he knows next to nothing about.

He gets to his feet and turns to the little group of Stiles, Scott and Allison, who've started a heated discussion about the current situation.

"I'm _telling_ you, they're suspicious!" Stiles insists. Derek's a bit surprised that he hasn't knocked himself out with his own flailing arms.

"But… aren't they, like, magical police officers and trying to help? They didn't tell lies." Scott counters, frowning.

"Even police officers can be corrupt and, regardless, we don't know anything about 'aurors' or that whole magic world they supposedly come from. What we need, is more information!" Stiles decided determinedly and nibbles on his bottom lip as he is, no doubt, already composing a mental list of possible sources he can check.

"Do you know anything, sourwolf?"

Derek glares at the teen, but grudgingly shakes his head.

He has to admit that getting more information is a good idea. At the moment they're basically running around blind, mostly relying on what Harry and Ron have told them about the newest threat. Scott and Allison seem to agree wholeheartedly, because both of them are already stuffing their hands into their respective pockets to unearth their phones.

"I'll ask my dad, if he's heard anything about dementors or the magical world," Allison pipes in as she begins to tap away on the screen of her smart phone.

"I'll talk to Deaton," Scott adds, but pauses before he's even unlocked the screen. "Maybe we should also speak with Peter? Maybe he knows something?"

Stiles scratches the side of his neck, humming.

"Yeah, but after we check with everyone else. Hopefully we'll have a basic knowledge to work with by then. Don't really trust him as far as I can throw him. Speaking of untrustworthy, we should also keep an eye on the wizards until we know what's up with them. I'd say Derek, but-"

"But what?" Derek growls out, but before he can get an answer, a bang interrupts them form the general direction of the Nemeton.

They dash to the clearing at one, though the closer they get to the magical tree stump, the more Derek's condition worsens again. He's, to put it mildly, sick of it.

Similar to Isaac, Derek has to stop at the tree line separating the dense forest from the clearing. Black dots are starting to creep into his vision and his heart is beating wildly against his rib cage as flashes of his worst nightmares lodge themselves more prominently into his mind. He fumbles for the rest of the chocolate bar that hasn't, miraculously, melted in the summer heat, yet and shoves a big piece into his mouth.

The effect is instantaneous, but leaves much to be desired. This time, it barely takes the edge off, but it's got to be enough for now.

Dozens of dementors are drifting through the clearing, though, fortunately, none are paying attention to them. Their focus is solely on the Nemeton. Harry's patronus has assumed a protective stance between the wizard and the black-robed creatures and a semi-translucent, glowing Jack Russel Terrier has joined it.

Derek tries to focus on the two wizards, who seem to be shell-shocked; Ron's arm is still raised as if he's thrown something.

"Dude, what the hell happened?" Stiles inquires alarmed, warily eyeing the dementors as he inches past them. Scott follows in a similar manner, whereas Allison's expression is bemused as she looks around. All three of them are shivering.

The wizards, on the other hand, are ignoring them.

"Bloody hell…"

"Yeah."

"Can you imagine what would've happened if _we_ had used it?"

"Good thing we didn't arrive in Beacon Hills…"

Stiles opens his mouth, no doubt to start a lengthy rant, but gets interrupted by Scott who's laid a comforting hand on the wizards' shoulders and is watching them with a concerned frown.

"You alright? What happened?"

For a second, all the two Brits are doing is blink, but finally manage to get a grip on themselves.

"The portkey exploded," Harry starts faintly and glances wide-eyed to a spot on his left, before refocusing on Scott. "The plan was to find the dementors, tether them to us and use the portkey to get back to England. But… but now that we can't use the tether spell, we tried to toss the portkey at one of the dementors directly and, well, like I said, it uh exploded."

"What's a portkey? And why am I the only one who can't see these things?" Allison demands to know, sounding rather peeved.

"A magical object that lets you travel from one point to another," Ron explains scowling. He's obviously still miffed about the semi-inquisition just a few minutes prior. "And you can't see dementors if you're not magical in some way."

"Wha- but I'm not magical either and I can see them!" Stiles butts in, waving frantically at the eerie creatures to his right with one arm.

"Maybe you're a Squib. People with magical ancestors, usually the parents, who don't have access to their magic cores and therefore can't use their magic actively." Harry suggests, stumping not only Stiles, before turning towards Ron. "We have to report to Robards. Maybe the Unspeakables have a solution. Or anyone else, I guess."

"Yeah, we should also try to erect containment wards. Those guys," Ron nods towards the dementors, who're still circling the tree stump in their midst. "don't look like they're floating away anytime soon, but we should make sure. We can't exactly camp out here the whole time to keep an eye on them. That would be like Azkaban number two. And also-" The redheads stomach growls. "I'm starving, mate."

Harry snorts.

"What else is new? Okay, I'll try my hands at the wards while you call Robards."

Ron nods and eyes Stiles, Allison and Scott.

"We have to give him some space. Harry's going to erect a containment ward. That means nothing physical gets in and nothing physical gets out. That should keep everyone in Beacon Hills safe until we have an idea how to deal with the current situation. Looks like something, most likely that thing-" He points towards the Nemeton with his thumb. "is interfering with our magic. According to Harry that shouldn't be the case, but like I said, something's wrong with it. Maybe because it's been cut down."

"You want us to just let you cast some sort of spell around the Nemeton? You gotta be kidding me! No way in hell!" Stiles rebuffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest stubbornly.

Ron grits his teeth in response and looks seconds away from just strangling the brunet, a sentiment he unknowingly shares with a lot of people in Beacon Hills.

"Listen here, kid. At the moment I really don't care if you're the self-appointed magical guardians of this town or whatever. It's my job to deal with the dementors and to make sure there're as few casualties as possible. None would be ideal, but unfortunately we all know there have been victims already. Erecting the wards will make sure that there won't be more of them, so it'll happen whether you're agreeing or not."

For a moment, Scott's eyes flash alpha-red, but instead of getting defensive or attacking outright, he lays a reassuring hand on Stiles shoulder and nods.

"Do it." He steers his protesting best friend to the tree line, where Derek's still caught in a draining fight with his worst memories. Ron joins them after a few moments, though he is standing off to the side as he pulls out one of those communication mirrors. Shortly thereafter he's relying he situation to another Brit, probably his superior.

In the meanwhile, Harry has taken out his wand and is drawing complicated patterns into the air with it, while mumbling something in Latin. A shimmering dome appears around the Nemeton and its annoying guests. For a moment it wobbles and looks like it's going to collapse, but then Derek can actually feel the magic brush against his skin like a protective caress. The dome pulses once, twice and finally disappears.

Harry utters a sigh of relief.

"At least one thing that worked more or less."


End file.
